


black coffee

by twodimecastle



Category: Daredevil (TV), Punisher (Comics), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: @the punisher series just drop already, A little, Angst, Character Study, F/M, Post-Canon, at least post current canon, it's only a mention of matt but w/e
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 09:00:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12105252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twodimecastle/pseuds/twodimecastle
Summary: It’s just caffeine and solitude and maybe the silence and the dim lights help her pretend she’s sleeping, at least for a moment. She doesn’t sleep much these days. Too many monsters lurking in her subconscious.





	black coffee

_two months._

Matt’s been missing and Karen had to write about the incident and she wants to believe her friend isn’t dead. She’s more numb to it than anything else at this point. It’s like when you poke at a scab for long enough that you don’t feel the sting anymore. The black coffee on the table in front of her is cold now and it’s bitter enough that she’s not sure why she ordered it. She doesn’t need caffeine to keep her from sleeping.

_three months._

The shitty diner down the street from her office feels more like home than she thinks it should. Karen has never cared for coffee enough to drink the bad stuff, but now she almost doesn’t notice the taste anymore. It’s just caffeine and solitude and maybe the silence and the dim lights help her pretend she’s sleeping, at least for a moment. She doesn’t sleep much these days. Too many monsters lurking in her subconscious.

_four months._

There’s a booth in the corner of the diner that’s hers now. Not officially, but she comes late enough and often enough that she can sit in the dark corner of the nearly empty diner and watch the few other patrons in undisturbed silence. They all blur together after a while, into faceless shadows flitting briefly through the dingy space. Doesn’t matter, though. She isn’t here for them. She isn’t here for the shitty coffee either. She’s waiting for someone. He’s not here often, but waiting to catch a glimpse is better than lying awake alone in bed. The bitterness of the black coffee is almost medicinal and she wonders if she’s trying to cure something.

_five months._

Karen’s fingers twitch against the smooth porcelain of the mug as she watches a broad, shadowy figure turn the corner outside the diner. A hat obscures his features, but as she watches him slouch towards the door she knows instinctively the figure has a broken nose, cropped hair and a gun hidden under his jacket. She watches Frank hesitate on the other side of the glass door, and even though any identifying characteristics are indistinct through the fog of condensation, she would know him anywhere. He doesn’t look at her as he comes in, but he never does. There’s a slight pause before he slides into his usual booth and she sees the brim of his hat dip slightly as he inclines his head minutely towards her. Her fingers tap soundlessly on the handle of her mug again and she drains the rest of the coffee. She doesn’t look at him as she leaves the diner, but she never does. They both know how this routine goes.

_six months._

She can tell he’s limping the second he comes into view. No one else would be able to tell. His gait is slightly uneven and she wonders just how creepy it is that she can tell he’s injured from a distant glance. He’s rubbing at his side and she’s sure he doesn’t realise he’s doing it and she decides it’s definitely creepy that she notices.  He hesitates, hand on the door handle just like he always does and she takes another sip of her coffee, not noticing as she nearly scalds her tongue. Karen’s been telling herself this is just to see he’s alive, to see he’s okay since she started coming here, but she doesn’t know what she does now that he doesn’t look okay. The door creaks slightly as he enters, and he doesn’t look at her, but as she watches him, all pretence of subtlety abandoned, he shakes his head almost imperceptibly. Don’t get up. It’s fine. She doesn’t relax, but she doesn’t move. The coffee burns her throat a little as she swallows and she watches him limp to his usual booth. She tries to take another sip of her coffee but the mug is empty and the silence in the diner is weighting so oppressively on her that she’s afraid to move, to make a noise. Her eyes are burning into the back of his head as the waitress pours him a mug of coffee. Frank’s head dips slightly in the slight inclination of his head in her direction. The same little nod every time she sees him. The most contact she’s had with him since she saw him on the rooftop. It’s enough to know he’s alive. She’s not sure why she needs to keep checking, but sitting alone in a silent diner feels better than sitting alone in her cold apartment.

_six months._

Her fingertip traces lightly around the cold rim of her empty mug and Karen wonders idly if she should start bringing work with her to the diner. Given she spends hours here every week, maybe it would be better to be productive while she waits. She’s considered it before, though, and she never brings her work. Her corner of the diner seems to exist in a little bubble outside of the sphere of her writing. Outside of everything that she’s supposed to be focusing on in her life. She doesn’t even let herself think about why she comes here too often. The longer she thinks about it, the more insane it’ll seem. She doesn’t want to think about why she needs to see him there, but she’s long since gotten used to the bitterness of the too hot coffee and it’s a routine she doesn’t want to fall out of. Even if nothing changes when she sees him. Even if she hasn’t spoken to him since the woods. Even if she doesn’t know what she wants to get out of this. The wind is howling against the windows of the diner and the streetlights flicker faintly outside and she tries to make her mind go blank as she sits in her corner of the diner and waits. A hunched figure appears around the corner, baseball cap pulled low, and she feels her shoulders loosen, releasing the tension she didn’t realise had been there in the first place.

_six months._

She hasn’t seen him yet this week and she doesn’t know why that worries her. He can look after himself better than she possibly could. He doesn’t, though. The short glimpses she catches of his face are littered with bruises and he’s limping more than he isn’t these days. Karen tells herself it’s enough to know he’s alive, but a faint tension in the back of her mind tells her that one day soon it won’t be enough. She’s not sure what she’ll do then. The clock ticks faintly in the diner and she’s the only customer there. It’s later than she should be there and even though she’s long since given up on any kind of sleep but the exhausted, dreamless kind of unconsciousness she gets these days, the part of her that clings to the semblance of normalcy in her life wants to go home and pretend everything is fine. Her hand moves mechanically, and the waitress comes over to pour her another mug of coffee. She settles back against the vinyl of the booth and she lets the scalding heat radiate through the porcelain and warm her palms. She doesn’t sleep much these days anyway.

_seven months._

The gun holster tucked under her arm is heavier than it normally is, and though the wind is whipping icy rain against the windows of the diner, that’s not what’s leaving her cold. Frank is standing in the doorway of the diner and for the first time since they fell into this pattern, he’s looking her in the eye. Her mug is too hot in her hands and the mechanical ticking of the clock grates in her mind and she’s frozen in place, staring back at him. Even in the dim light of the diner, even with the shadowy brim of his baseball cap, she can see the black eye and the split lip and the crooked tilt of his already crooked nose. Her heart is ramming itself against her ribs and she wants to scream but she couldn’t make a noise even if she wanted too. She wants to know where he’s been, wants to know why he hasn’t been in the papers much lately but even if she could make herself ask, he wouldn’t. A few seconds have elapsed, but it might as well have been years. Frank’s shoulders lift infinitesimally in a shrug and he inclines his head towards her slightly and then the moment is over as he turns away, towards his usual booth. Her pulse is racing and she drains her mug in a few quick swallows, rising to her feet and walking to the door. She hesitates in the doorway, eyes lingering on the back of his head and she knows this routine is over. As the door creaks closed behind her and she raises the collar of her coat against the cold, she lets her fingertips slide down a little to brush over the hollow of her throat, feeling her pulse slow again. The slight tilt of Frank’s head as she left lingers in her mind and instinctively, she knows he won’t be back there again.

_eight months._

The coffee is still bitter and too hot and the smooth curve of the mug is familiar in her hand and she still feels like she’s waiting for something. There’s no real reason for her to keep coming here, but the habit has stayed. Yesterday’s paper lies open on the table in front of her, and there isn’t any mention of him in it. She drains her mug and waves the waitress over for a refill. The empty diner is still better than home.


End file.
